


Ex-Commander

by blitzturtles



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-18
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-25 08:00:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9810428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blitzturtles/pseuds/blitzturtles
Summary: Awake/Dreams, Day 3′s Prompt for VLDRarePairWeek.He could laugh, if the fear in his chest hadn’t instantly caused his blood to run cold, making breathing that much more difficult. Death would have been a relief, he knows, to whatever may come next.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as something that was supposed to be strictly Coran/Thace, but I kind of like the idea of Kolivan being pulled into things occasionally. Either way, I tried to leave it open for interpretation.

He should be dead. He knows that before he can manage to open his eyes. His vision is a mess of useless blurs that tell him nothing about where he is. His ears are ringing so bad that he almost wonders if the damage is permanent. Little else in the way of audio input seems to be processing. Is he bleeding? There’s a good chance of it, given the woozy feeling. His lower half is numb. One small blessing, he supposes.

The thing about Thace’s luck is that it never holds out for long. He manages just long enough, usually, to get what needs to be done, done. His thoughts wonder briefly. Thinking of his early days with the other Marmorans, tripping over his own feet in front of Kolivan, much to his horror and Ulaz’s never ending amusement.

Someone crowds in on his personal space. He can vaguely make out symmetrical red blurs, both striking through false gold eyes.

He could laugh, if the fear in his chest hadn’t instantly caused his blood to run cold, making breathing that much more difficult. Death would have been a relief, he knows, to whatever comes next.

In an instant, he’s strapped to a chair again. Only somewhat more aware of his surroundings. Haggar’s voice filters through the unending screech of sensitive ears damaged beyond repair.

“You failed,” she whispers in one ear, standing just behind him. “Such a foolish mistake, though the Emperor is quite pleased that you have delivered your leader to us.”

Thace’s eyes widen. “No,” he breathes. “No, no, no,” he can’t think of anything else to say. He can’t _think_. There is nothing he can say. Nothing that could undo what has been done. He would have gladly taken torture for the remainder of his days over the knowledge that he had led the other Marmorans to their deaths with one, idiotic mistake. 

He pulls hopelessly at the metal bands keeping his wrists in place. Some part of him sees the mangled mess that makes up half of one hand, and he still can’t bring himself to care. All he can think of is breaking free, as if he can somehow fix everything.

The hold only tightens the more he struggles.

“Thace, you need- Thace!”

Thace’s eyes snap open, looking around wildly. He extends his claws to their full length with every intention of sinking them into whatever he can reach. A thought that is more instinctual than logical, considering he can’t move his hands. A familiar mess of ginger hair comes into view, but it still takes his mind another moment to catch up with reality. He hadn’t failed. He had kept quiet, waited, and then...

“Easy. You’re safe,” Coran says softly, letting go of one wrist once Thace seems to have calmed enough to do so. He reaches up with the back of his hand, carefully pressing his skin against Thace’s jaw and then upward, along his cheekbone. He repeats the motion again.

Slowly, Thace relaxes. His ears go from being pinned flat against his head to a somewhat more relaxed position. Not perfect, but an improvement all the same. 

“Bad one?” Coran asks, knowing the answer. He isn’t looking for words, so much as watching and reading for the smaller signs. When all he gets in response is a slight nod, he continues, “Should I request Kolivan’s presence?”

“No.” _Maybe_. If only to put his fears to rest, but he rather not bother Kolivan over something so absurd. 

Coran works his fingernails behind one ear. His other hand moves from Thace’s wrist to brush along the scarred tissue left behind from the loss of two of Thace’s fingers. Thanks to a healing pod and a decent amount of effort on Coran and another Marmoran’s part, they had managed to salvage the rest of Thace’s hand. His right leg had been far more complicated. Most of it gone by the time Thace had been rescued. The whole time, Kolivan had been present, showing more agitation than Coran had seen from him before. Needless to say, he doubts Kolivan would mind. There aren’t any immediate crises to attend to. 

“Alright,” Coran agrees. Better to not push. Thace looks miserably exhausted now. Somehow worse off than when he had first gone to sleep. He continues his efforts to ease the tension in Thace’s body. At the least, it isn’t helping the pain that Thace nearly always has now. 

He pauses in his efforts, deciding to rearrange them so Thace’s back is to his front. One arm hooks around Thace’s middle, holding him tightly against himself. His other hand continues working at the fur on and surrounding Thace’s ears. 

The ex-Commander curls tight-- tighter than is reasonable for someone of his size-- around Coran’s arm. 

Coran simply adjusts himself to follow the line of Thace’s body as well as he can. He never tires of petting through the other’s thick fur. Though, he often finds himself tracing along the jagged scar on one of Thace’s ears. His fur no longer grows there. By some small miracle, the stripes that run through both ears had remained untouched. Coran is admittedly fond of them. 

Slowly, Thace relaxes in his hold. Coran can feel some of the tension melt away. He makes a mental note to get Thace some painkillers come morning. That, and he may track down Kolivan. Coran might know proper grooming techniques, but he happens to lack the claws and roughened tongues that make it possible to truly carry those techniques out. The former is easier to imitate with his shifting abilities, but he thinks that the two Marmorans could use the opportunity to decompress more fully. These times of ‘peace’ were few and far between, after all. Kolivan is often elsewhere in the galaxy, while Thace is considered retired and a permanent inhabitant of the Castle after having given more than anyone could have asked of him.

“Even when I have only one working ear, you think too loudly.”

Coran nearly chokes on his own spit, having gotten lost in his own thoughts enough that he hadn’t realized Thace was still awake. He had grown too used to the Earthlings. Humans seemed to be inherently loud, where Galra weren’t. “I see your sense of humor is recovering,” he teases in return. “How are you feeling?”

“Lighter,” Thace answers, “Thank you.”

Coran doesn’t bother pointing out that Thace isn’t obligated to thank him. He’s tried that before. Several dozen times. Never once has it seemed to have gotten through the thick skull he’s so fond of. “I’m glad,” he says instead.

They lapse into silence again. Coran loses himself in his thoughts as easily as before, only pausing when he hears a familiar, low sound from Thace. The purr is more reassuring than anything else. Knowing Thace is at ease enough now to vocalize his contentment.

The sound dies off eventually. Coran stills his hand so that it rests on top of Thace’s head. He wonders if he can will Thace’s dreams toward something peaceful, but he settles for keeping his own mind calm, aware that Galra are fairly sensitive to picking up on the moods of others. 

Coran drifts off eventually. Warm and comfortable, and with the knowledge that Thace’s mind seems to be allowing him to rest peacefully.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on tumblr (@blitzturtle) to talk about headcanons, prompt ideas, and general nonsense!


End file.
